


Honey, I Lost My Soulmate

by rae1112



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae1112/pseuds/rae1112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The father furrowed his eyebrows, and leaned past the guard’s arm, anger at Arthur momentarily forgotten. “...Is...is that…?”</p><p>“Yes.” Arthur answered, now holding his soul mate’s watch in his hands carefully. “It is.” It looked like most watches, a lot like Arthur’s actually, sans cover. Except for the fact that it was also covered in blue-and-red American flag stickers. “And it looks like it belongs to a fucking idiot.”</p><p>---<br/>Wildly successful lawyer Arthur Kirkland loses his soul mate at a mall. Moderately intelligent Alfred Jones loses his soul-mate watch at the same mall. The Universe works overtime to make sure these idiots don't ruin everyone's Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2014 USUK Secret Santa. My prompt was a Soul-Mate Watch Story, where their watches go off and there's mad race to see the other (I'm paraphrasing). I took the "mad race" part and ran with it. Merry Christmas blulious, I hope you enjoy!

“You’re a prick, Francis Bonnefoy, and I curse you for all fucking eternity.” Arthur Kirkland grumbled, shivering into his coat, before taking a swig of his industrial strength caffeinated monstrosity. Loathe as he was to admit it, his trusty English Breakfast just wasn’t cutting it anymore. And likely, it was Francis’ fault, as most things were.

Francis, who never seemed to realize everything was his fault, rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “Whatever, Kirkland. Just buy me my suit jacket and we can go home, oui? Very professional, by the way.” He sped up his pace, crossing the street without waiting for the light. Arthur hurried after him, eager to escape the deep New York winter.

“That was a complete accident, it isn’t my fault you’re jumpy.”

Francis rolled his eyes again, and Arthur desperately wanted them to get stuck that way. “I’m not jumpy. I practically personify sophistication. You, on the other hand, are an absolute savage. Spilling wine on me was low, Arthur, even for you.”

“I said I was sorry, alright? And I’m even going to your blasted mall. I can’t do any more than that.” Francis looked ready to roll his eyes for a third time, but did not protest further.

Arthur harrumphed. Perhaps Francis’ annoyance with him was justified, for once. Three days ago, give or take (Arthur’s memory of this entire week was becoming quite hazy--perhaps it was time to lay off the gin-and-brandy nightcap), Francis’s watch was set to finally go off, at the tender age of thirty three, and the Frenchman had been a wreck about it all week. As a result, he’d started working out like crazy, putting on copious amounts of cologne, and taken to wearing particularly expensive suits. Not that he didn’t wear expensive suits before--working at an international law firm in New York, one was not left with much choice--but now, they were _particularly_ expensive. 

And, well, Arthur found it annoying. Francis had been one of the last people at the company, along with Arthur himself, who had yet to find his “soul mate”. It was going to be kind of depressing being the only single person at the firm’s social gatherings. Not to mention, if this nervous, stuttering, jumpy Francis was what Arthur had to look forward to, his future at Vargas & Vargas International Law Firm did not look bright (even if he was the youngest lawyer there to be made partner--suck on that, Ludwig Beilschmidt, not everyone could sleep their way to the top).

So when Francis had been acting like a particular nuisance at an office party last night, Arthur had found he couldn’t quite take it anymore. The older man had been harassing Arthur all night, clinging to his arm, looking out wildly for any strangers who may have caught his fancy. When he’d pawed at Arthur’s hand for the third time that night, Arthur lost his patience and whirled around to yell, but ended up tossing his drink all over Francis’s _particularly_ expensive suit. 

“ _Merde!!_ ” Francis had roared, rather uncharacteristically, “ _Are you fucking kidding me, Kirkland!?_

It also happened that Francis’s soulmate-to-be was at the party--a friend of a friend, as it had turned out. Matthew Williams, new acquaintance of one Gilbert Beilschmidt, who’s only impression of Francis was this night, wherein Francis had screamed bloody murder over a wine stain. Needless to say, once their watches had gone off, it had been an awkward beginning for the two of them. And loathe as he was to admit it, Arthur did feel a smidgen of responsibility for the whole thing. 

It was Francis’ own fault, really. He’d been raised to be quite the romantic, despite his profession. He’d been a slave to the watch on his wrist--waiting patiently for the clock to count down the minutes before he met his one and only. Though he’d slept around quite a bit, he’d never been in a serious relationship, preferring to leave such things to fate. And when the time came, he had stressed himself out and wound himself up too tight. 

And yet, Arthur couldn’t blame him. Most people tended to be extremely nervous once their clock started counting down days instead of years. At least Francis had been in a social setting when his watch went off--Vargas had been in the middle of an extremely high profile court case when Ludwig Beilschmidt had waltzed in, causing their watches to simultaneously go off, as well as causing one of the biggest commotions in corporate law history (at least, Arthur had thought it to be pretty big. Corporate law wasn’t exactly riddled with excitement). Arthur himself had no idea when his own watch would go off--his mother had decided, unorthodox as it was, to cover her children’s countdowns before they could walk, because she thought it ‘romantic’. Of course, all four of Arthur’s older brothers had pried off the watch cover as soon as they knew what it was, much to their mother’s exasperation. Arthur, though, chose to keep his on. More than anything, he liked mysteries. As a child, he thought taking the cover off his watch would ruin the magical moment he would surely experience with his soulmate (okay, so he was a romantic in his own right. Sue him.) His mother had been delighted at his decision, while his father and brothers had teased him relentlessly. He brushed them off fairly easily.

At least, he had then. Now, single and pushing thirty, he wondered if maybe a peek wouldn’t do more good than harm.

Well, this wasn’t the time to think too deeply on the matter. It seemed they finally found the shopping center Francis was so hellbent on going to. Not Arthur’s favorite way to spend an afternoon, but in this case, buying Francis a new suit seemed to be the least he could do.

Although, by the looks of it, Francis was making a beeline for Dior…

“Are you fucking kidding me, Francis?!” Arthur cried, reaching out to halt the Frenchman’s long strides. “I am not getting you a three-thousand dollar suit! It’s Nordstrom or bust, take your pick.” 

“Arthur,” Francis ground out, with barely contained rage, “You awful human being. Not only did you almost ruin my relationship with someone I have been waiting to meet for _thirty-three years_ , but you made me lose face in front of Vargas, and, to add insult to injury, you ruined the _only_ gray suit in all of New York that fit me correctly. So, pardon moi, you are buying whatever the hell I want you to buy, alright?” Francis’ significantly thick French accent made his whole spiel sound a little more Bond-villain than anything, but Arthur got his point.

“...Fine.” Arthur finally acquiesced. “But you can find it on your own. If I have to watch you try on ten pairs of trousers again, I’ll go bloody mad.”

“Fine by me!” Francis said exasperatedly, “I’ll text you when I’m finished. You better stay close by, Arthur, I mean it!” Arthur waved his hand dismissively in Francis’ general direction and the older man, after a long glare, turned to walk into his shop of choice. Arthur, meanwhile, waited a few seconds, then made his way to the coffee shop he knew to be on the other side of the shopping center. Bugger what Francis wanted, Arthur needed more caffeine.

As he made his way through the mall, Arthur indulged in one of his favorite hobbies: people watching. He watched as a red haired woman struggled to pull her three red haired children out of a toy store. Then, a dark skinned man with a long blue coat, who picked up his small dog, which seemed to have trouble walking. A teenage girl ran out of a Victoria’s Secret, seemingly in tears, and holding what looked to be a dozen bags.

He wondered how his brothers were doing. Though he made an effort to Skype with them every weekend, it was getting harder to do so, considering his loaded schedule this year. He found himself working weekends more and more, which couldn’t be healthy. Even Alastair was getting worried, and that was alarming in its own right.

_A particularly beautiful Hispanic woman laughed to herself as she lounged about on a bench. Her watch looked to be off however, replaced by a ring on her hand. Pity. Not ten feet away from her, a pair of twins argued over a package. A man lit a cigarette, and it illuminated his gaunt face for a nanosecond._

How long would it take Francis to choose a suit, anyway? Arthur realized he had brought no entertainment with him. He could always buy a book, but as far as he could remember, the nearest bookstore was back in the direction he had come from. Well, he could always Skype Alastair from the cafe...Francis would surely take more than fifteen minutes?

 _An African American girl breezed by him, wearing a particularly colorful coat. Arthur wondered if he could find it somewhere, perhaps his mother would appreciate it as a gift, in lieu of his presence this Christmas. A father and a son come out of a Burlington Coat Factory, both looking worse for wear._

Francis would take at least an hour, he always did when he was shopping. Arthur had plenty of time, both to put Alastair’s mind at ease, and to talk to his dozens of nephews. Not literally dozens, of course, but they were such a rowdy bunch, even if there were only three of them. They seemed to have inherited all of the Kirkland spunk, for which Arthur could not be prouder. Not that he’d ever tell Alastair that, of course. 

_Another young mother was having trouble pulling her kid out of a store. An older grandmother looked at the two, with relative fondness lining her face. A rather handsome blonde man with glasses looked right into Arthur’s eyes (or his eyebrows, it was always hard to tell) before bumping into his side rather hard. Fucking rude little wanker. And a little boy was laughing, because Arthur had nearly fallen over, stupid little brats had no--_

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Arthur immediately froze. 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Gulped. Looked down at his wrist. _It can’t be…_

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

There, his normally blacked out, silent watch, was beeping out of control. 

“Ssshhh!!” Arthur hissed, irrationally, slapping his palm over the damn contraption just as it’s band broke. He caught it before it slipped off his wrist, then held it out in front of him, incredulously. Yes...there it was. The watch that was meant to show him who his soulmate was. The one that was supposed to go off simultaneously with someone else’s. He looked up, wildly, glancing around, hoping to see someone else in his same position. Seemingly, however, everyone was going about their daily business, and not having an internal panic attack about a malfunctioning watch. 

“Is it malfunctioning..?!” Arthur muttered to himself, clawing the cover off his now useless contraption. It seemed that everything with it was in order, however, with the display reading _00:00:00_.

“Shit.” Arthur said, louder this time, whirling around wildly, “Shit. _Shit. Bloody bollocking SHIT._ ” 

The mother he had been observing gave him a dirty look, but he chose to ignore it in the face of the possibly worst thing that had ever happened to him. _Okay Arthur, think...these things only come off when you actually spot your soul mate, yeah? It couldn’t have been just any random person…_ He looked at the young mother again, but decided against questioning her. If anything out of the ordinary had happened, she would probably be freaking out like he was. What about the kid that had been laughing at him earlier? Jesus Christ, the universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to make him a pedophile, would it?!

 _No, no, c’mon, you’re not making sense…_ He turned back to the direction he came from. _The woman I was...observing...earlier...no, her watch was already off, the girl with the coat? Could be, could be, though she didn’t even look at me, I don’t think...the guy, he looked at my eyebro--is that him? Is that him?! IS HE ON THE ESCALATOR?!_

“Oi!!! OI MATE, STOP!!!” Arthur roared at what was probably an innapropriate volume (judging by all the dirty looks flung his way by everyone in the vicinity), but Arthur was far beyond caring at this point. When it became clear the blonde man could not hear his shouting, Arthur tore off after him at break neck speed. “STOP, STOP FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, _IS YOUR WATCH STILL ON--_ ” 

Unfortunately, Arthur had never been blessed with the gift of coordination, and he hadn’t even gotten close to his target before tripping on some poor child’s teddybear and falling flat on his face. The child immediately began crying, and before Arthur could even apologize, the dark skinned father picked Arthur off the floor by his scarf and began shouting in his face. Arthur, who could not let go of his pride at the best of times, began shouting right back, and all of this, along with the exponentially louder shrieks of the child, served to make the nearest security officer come and break the men apart. By the time Arthur remembered himself, and whirled to look back at the direction of the escalator, the blonde man was long gone.

 _Fuck._

“And by the way, it wasn’t my kid’s fault you fell on your dumb ass!” The father was shouting from behind the security officer restraining arms. Arthur turned to look at him again, mind made up. He was going to break this man’s face in. “You tripped over that watch. Clearly, you need to watch where you’re going--”

“What _watch_?! Arthur interrupted, all thoughts of the man’s face forgotten. His own watch was still in his pocket, he could feel it…

The kid, still partially sobbing into his teddy bear, pointed a shaky finger somewhere in the direction of Arthur’s feet. The Briton looked down, and low and behold, a watch reading _00:00:00_ was sprawled out not two feet from him. He immediately dived for it, startling the security guard and the child in the process. The father furrowed his eyebrows, and leaned past the guard’s arm, anger at Arthur momentarily forgotten. “...Is...is that…?”

“Yes.” Arthur answered, now holding his soul mate’s watch in his hands carefully. “It is.” It looked like most watches, a lot like Arthur’s actually, sans cover. Except for the fact that it was also covered in blue-and-red American flag stickers. “And it looks like it belongs to a fucking idiot.”

\-------------

“Oh honey, I’m home.” Alfred shouted sarcastically into the empty room before throwing the dozen packages he was carrying onto the nearest surface. He began the long, arduous process of removing all the winter clothed he’d piled on, starting with the scratchy wool scarf his roommate's sister made him. It itched like a bitch, but he’d never tell them that. 

“Did you buy my glass swan?” Ivan replied from the other room. Alfred shook his head in annoyance.

“ _Yes._ Come get it. I can’t believe you made me go out today. You know it’s the day I’m meeting my soulmate, and you _know_ I wanted to eat four hamburgers in a row one last time before I met them--”

“If someone was truly your soulmate, they’d understand being a fatass is part of your genetic makeup.” Ivan said, walking into the living room. “I can’t wait until you meet them, you’ll move in together immediately, da?”

“Keep dreaming, commie.” Alfred said, wrestling his coat off, “And if they _do_ wanna move in with me immediately, they can move in here, and we’ll have a lot of loud obnoxious sex, which’ll totally drown you and Yao out."

“They’ll have to teach you how to have sex first, heh,” Ivan said, rummaging around the packages Alfred had brought home. When Alfred didn’t reply, Ivan frowned and looked back at his roommate, who was had just dropped his jacket to the floor, and was looking exceptionally pale. “Alo? Did you not hear me insulting your sexual prowess? Because you have none. Because you’re still a virgin.”

“It’s gone.” Alfred said, voice trembling, all color draining completely from his face. “It isn’t here.”

“...What’s gone?”

“M-my…” Alfred’s hands were starting to shake, and Ivan made his way toward him quickly, “My watch, it isn’t on my wrist…”

Ivan’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, it isn’t on your wrist?”

Alfred looked at him, eyes wild. “Did you forget how to speak English again?! Do I need to say it in your mother-tongue?? Privyet, Ivan! I mean it’s not on my fucking wrist! It is physically not on my fucking wrist!! Instead there is an unattractive tan line where my watch should be! It is fucking GONE, Ivan, I lost my _soulmate watch thing_ \--”

“Calm the fuck down, Alfred, Jesus,” Ivan said, putting his hands on Alfred’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him down, “Did you hit your hand somewhere? Maybe you just broke the band--”

“These things are fucking indestructible, Ivan!” Alfred shouted, “Do you remember that time Yao accidently hit it with a hammer?! It shattered my wrist but my stupid-ass watch was totally fine!!”

“Okay…” Ivan replied, quickly realizing what most likely happened, “Okay. Just, breathe for a second, durak, calm down. Em, I don’t want you to get angry, alright, but...do you think it’s possible that you already saw your soulmate?”

It seemed this statement did the opposite of calming Alfred down. “What.”

Ivan felt that a fight was coming on. This was not going to be pleasant. “Perhaps...you already saw them. On the street, or, or at the mall...everyone’s running around shopping this week, it’s a week before Christmas, it was bound to be loud...perhaps...you did not hear it go off? And neither did your partner, and they just sort of...fell off?”

“N-no, c’mon Ivan, you’re supposed to look at each other and all that shit--”

“Are you telling me you didn’t look at anyone at that mall? Not one single fucking person?”

Alfred stayed silent. Unfortunately, it made total sense. Ivan was probably correct. He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t paid enough attention, on the day he KNEW he’d be meeting the person he’d waited for all his life! Instead he’d been running around like a mad man trying to find a stupid glass swan for his stupid roommate’s boyfriend instead, and he’d completely missed it, and he was going to die alone and live with Yao and Ivan forever and have to listen to their stupid bickering in Russo-Chinese for the rest of fucking eternity--

“Snap out of it!” Ivan yelled, smacking Alfred’s bicep.

“OW! You fucking asshole! This is completely your fault--”

“Let’s not point fingers here,” Ivan interrupted, perfectly aware of the fact that he should have perhaps not sent his roommate to the most crowded area of New York City when he was meant to be meeting someone he’d waited for for twenty years. Thank Christ Ivan had met Yao when they’d both been fifteen. It made things so damn simple. “Alfred, you pretty much have one single positive attribute, and it is your memory. Try and remember, who did you actually look at today? Anyone stand out?”

Alfred tried to ignore the fact that Ivan seemed to think he was only good at memorizing things, and tried to concentrate. If he’d seen his soulmate, it stood to reason that they had to have made some sort of impression on him, no matter how brief. 

Who had he seen? There had been that Korean kid who tripped over Alfred’s feet and nearly fell into the street. Alfred had laughed pretty loudly at that, though not so loudly when his six brothers started chasing after him...he’d had his hands in his pockets at that time, however, even if the watch had fallen off, it should have been safely in his jacket.

He’d looked pretty extensively at the cashiers at all the stores he’d been to. But none of them had made any distinct impression on him. Besides, if they’d been facing each other, and Alfred had been standing still, there would have been no way he wouldn’t have noticed his watch falling off. 

What about the strangers he’d seen just walking on the street, or at the mall? Truth was, Alfred rarely made eye contact with random people, he thought it was uncomfortable, especially since most people stared at him because he was so extremely sexy (and he was sexy, goddamn it, no matter what Ivan and Yao claimed). Except…

 _Oh my god_. Except for the man with the giant eyebrows!! He’d been around Alfred’s height, and he’d been staring at Alfred completely absentmindedly. Alfred would have ignored him, except for the fact that his incredibly thick eyebrows kind of arched in that way Alfred appreciated, and his face was sort of sharp and angular, which was nice, and he looked like he was wearing an extremely expensive tan trenchcoat, and he’d been messy haired, which was more endearing than it should have been, and his eyes looked _acidic green_ , which...actually wasn’t normal, he should probably get that checked out by a doctor, but the point was--

“Okay.” Alfred said out loud, startling Ivan out of his own reverie, “Okay. I have no idea if...it’s this or not, but I remember this one guy most clearly.”

“Good start…” Ivan said, “How old did he look? Was he older?”

Alfred frowned. Not that Ivan mentioned it, it did seem the man looked older than Alfred, maybe even by a decade. “Actually, yeah...how’d you know?”

“You have a type, Alfred,” Ivan replied, and sensing that Alfred was going to start yelling again, quickly added, “Not that it is a bad thing! You’re twenty-two this summer, it’s all perfectly legal, and so on. Look, I will call Yao, he can get off work a bit early, you can tell him what you remember, da? He’ll draw him, we can work from there.”

Alfred thought about that plan. “Hang on, I know how he draws...won’t Yao make him look like a girl?”

“Oh, he will most definitely make him look like a girl.”

\-------------

“Let me get this straight, Arthur.” Francis was saying, pacing around on Arthur’s nice hardwood floors. Arthur wanted to punch his face in, because surely he’d get scuff marks on the floor, but punching Francis, while cathartic, always seemed to get Arthur in trouble in the long run, so instead he burrowed further into his couch and tried not to cry. “You missed your initial confrontation with your soulmate because you were too busy getting angry at some kid for laughing at you. THEN, when you almost catch up to him again, you crash into some other poor child and get into a screaming match with it’s father instead of apologizing and moving on, like any other member of society would. And you had NO IDEA any of this was coming, because you never, not even once, looked at your watch to gauge around what year you expected to meet your soulmate.”

“You are exceptionally stupid.” Antonio Carriedo chimed in.

“Why are you here?!” Arthur spat for the third time that night. Antonio merely shrugged.

“He’s here because it’s going to take a lot of brain power to counteract your stupidity, Sourcils.” Francis explained. 

“And these are the geniuses you clobbered together to come up with “brain power”, Francis?!” Arthur yelled, taking a hazardous look around the room again. Aside from Francis and Gilbert, who Arthur worked with at Vargas & Vargas, there was Antonio (Francis’s roommate from college, and the stupidest Spaniard that ever lived, in Arthur’s opinion, though he could never say so out loud, because he was currently dating the other Vargas, the one who was likely to fire Arthur for no reason), and Matthew Williams (Francis’s new beau, who thus far contributed nothing to the conversation, and whose very presence pissed Arthur off for no apparent reason). 

“Yeah, I just wanna point out, Kirkland, all of us managed to find our own soul mates without scandal.” Gilbert said from the kitchen, “So how about letting us assist you with minimal bitching, hm?”

“What did he look like, again?” Matthew Williams asked, softly, one of the few things he’d said all night.

Arthur closed his eyes and counted to five. “I _told_ you lot already, I didn’t get a good look at him. He was blonde. He had glasses. He was fit. He was carrying a lot of packages around.”

“Mon Dieu, Arthur, how are you this unobservant.” Francis said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I have an idea!” Antonio said, making himself comfortable and putting his feet all over Arthur’s thousand-dollar coffee table. If he wasn’t dating Vargas, Arthur would have throttled him by now. “Arthur, amigo, why don’t you just take a picture of the watch and put in on Twitter? I’m sure someone will recognize it if it gets retweeted a couple hundred times. It’ll be like a modern Cinderella!”

“And it sounds so romantic…” Matthew chimed in, which Arthur chose to stoically ignore.

“I’ll tell you why, Antonio,” Francis explained, “One, Arthur is a sixty-year old man hiding in a thirty-year old’s body. He has no social media accounts. None.” Arthur also stoically ignored Antonio’s shocked face, “Two. Even if we put it up on one of our accounts, as soon as people figure out he is wealthy and minimally handsome--” 

“Minimally?!”

“--widows and divorcees and all those poor lost souls who did not find love by the watches will come flocking.”

“But,” Matthew said, obviously quite taken with the idea of having Arthur resemble some sort of Prince Charming, “he knows what the guy looks like, right? He should be able to distinguish--”

“All I know is that he’s blonde with glasses.” Arthur interrupted, feeling particularly vindictive and angry. “That description can apply to a million people. Hell, that description applies to YOU.”

“Jesus, don’t take it out on Birdie, Kirkland.” Gilbert said, striding into the living room, glasses in one hand, and a bottle of gin in the other. “Do you have nothing else to drink? I wasn’t really planning on getting blitzed tonight.”

“It’s gin or tea. Take your pick.” Arthur answered, feeling a little guilty for snapping at Matthew. Gilbert was right, of course, this wasn’t Matthew’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except for that blonde idiot’s. And maybe Arthur’s. A little. A tiny bit. 

“Well, we aren’t getting anything done like this.” Gilbert said, reasonably. “It’s Saturday night. Let’s drink a little bit, get our creative juices flowing, see where it takes us, hm?” Everyone paused, looked around at each other, then eventually nodded, Arthur most enthusiastically of all.

“There we go. We have one glass, we come up with a solution. Simple!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred lucks out at a bar, and Arthur ruins everything.

Two days later, Alfred was questioning Ivan and Yao’s judgement and analytic abilities. 

They’d been there to calm him down, to stop him from having an anxiety attack, and had managed to help keep his mother off his back. He was very thankful for that. Yao had even sketched out Alfred’s potential soulmate based on the description the American gave (and if his mystery man happened to look far more feminine in the picture than he did in real life, Alfred wisely chose not to point it out). They returned to the “scene of the crime” (Alfred had spent more time at this mall in the past two days than he had in the past two years), questioning random clerks and strangers, attempting to find someone with the description of “thick-ass eyebrows, green-ass eyes”. Needless to say, that hadn’t been particularly effective. Still, Ivan and Yao were there, patting him on the back and shoving Yao’s picture into stranger’s faces, and Alfred had never felt closer to them. 

However, that is when their helpful streak ran out, because on this freezing Monday night, he was serving as their designated driver at some hole in the wall in Brooklyn, while Ivan was chugging Jagerbomb and Yao was getting blitzed off a single beer. Good vibrations aside, it was totally embarrassing. 

“Jesus Christ, I hate you two. I still have to study for tomorrow, and, hm, what else? What else do I have to do? Oh yeah...ponder HOW exactly I’m going to fucking find this guy so I don’t end up alone for fucking ever!” Alfred hissed at his friends, neither of whom seemed to be paying much attention. 

“Alfrrd, get’me more vodka, pojalosta,” Ivan slurred, slipping into Russian with ease. “I have’the mon-uh, moneys, they’re in the car--”

“You aren’t even drinking vodka!” Alfred exclaimed, “You specifically said you’re never drink it again, and that I shouldn’t ever--oh my god, _ew_ , do you really have to do this right now?!” 

It seemed Yao and Ivan had drank enough to stop caring about whether they were in a public place, and began to make out and grope each other excessively. Alfred scrunched his face in disgust.

“Oh my god, I cannot believe this. Fuck you guys, I’m going to the bar.” And with that, Alfred shoved Ivan out of his way (Ivan, who ended up falling on the floor, dragging Yao with him. It didn’t seem to be enough of a disruption for either of them, however, as they managed to continue their make-out session on the floor), and stomped over to the relatively full bar, shoving at least three people out of his way. Needless to say, he wasn’t in the best place right now.

“I should just leave them here,” Alfred said out loud to himself, “I should just take my car, go home and get a nice sleep, they can just fuck on the floor here and then sleep on the streets, I do not give a fuck--”

“OI YANKEE, MOVE YER FAT ARSE OUTTA MY WAY!!” 

“What the fu--” but before Alfred could finish his thought, he was shoved unceremoniously off his barstool by someone very similar in height, if not muscle mass. The stranger proceeded to hop on the stool, balancing precariously, and waving his arms wildly, assumedly attempting to get the bartender’s attention.

“‘Ello, hi! Yes hullo, could I get a gin and tonic, love? Yeah, my mates want beer sssssooo yeah, beer as well…”

“Excuse me,” Alfred sneered, once the rudest man who’d ever lived finish placing his order, “But you just pushed me off that fucking chair. You have three seconds to apologize to me before I break your scrawny neck, okay?”

But all his resolve instantaneously melted away one the stranger faced him head on. Because it wasn’t a stranger at all...it was the man. The man from the mall! Alfred could recognize those eyebrows anywhere! “Who the fuck you callin’ scrawny, yank?”

And he had a British accent. His soulmate had beautiful, soothing British accent, and a low, sensual voice. Alfred could not believe his luck. Surely, this was no mere coincidence--the universe would not have him run into the very man he believed to be his soulmate if it wasn’t meant to be. Alfred grinned with ease--his karma had delivered, and he wouldn’t question it. “Wow, hey...yeah, sorry about that, you aren’t scrawny...uh, my name’s Alfred!”

The British guy narrowed his eyes. “Like th’ king?”

Alfred’s smile strained a bit. “Sorry, what?”

“Like th’ king, you moron, like King Alfr’d. Bloody good chap, but ‘e lived in the sixties, and he died too young…”

Dear god, his soul mate was a crazy person. “Okay...yeah, like the king. My name is Alfred Jones though, and I wasn’t alive in the sixties. Can I see your wrist, please?” Despite the man’s squawk of protest, Alfred grabbed his arm and pulled down his sleeve. _No watch and extremely obvious tan line, indicating that he lost it very recently. Perfect._ “Listen, guy, can I ask you a few questions? I think we may be--”

“What’re you drinkin’,” the shorter man interrupted rudely, “Is it beer? Can my prick of a friend have it? I don’t want’t spend my money on rubbish he likes…”

It wasn't beer. It was bottled coke. Alfred shook his head in astonishment. “No...you absolutely cannot have my drink for your friend...are you stupid, why would you even ask me that?”

“‘M not stupid!!” he swung his arms in Alfred’s general direction, and Alfred wasn’t sure if he was trying to punch something or not. Jesus Christ, _his soulmate was an alcoholic crazy British man._

“Okay, buddy, you’re not stupid, that is definitely my bad. Calm down now, okay?” Alfred attempted to still the man’s swinging arms, and only managed to after offering him his "beer" as a consolation prize. “What’s your name, by the way? And, isn’t that beer supposed to be for your friend?”

“He c’n blow me,” his soulmate slurred, “I need m’re than ‘e does, alright? And m’name’s Arthur.”

“Haha, like the king?” Alfred joked, smiling at the confused face Arthur made, “King Arthur? Looks like we have something in common!”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “Okay…?”

“What else, hm...where are you from? You sound English!”

“Hm,” Arthur smiled lightly, “You said English, not Britissshh…”

“Aha, yeah,” Alfred replied, “I heard y’all don’t like being called British, isn’t it charming that I know that?”

Arthur snorted in a decidedly un-charming manner.

“I bet you dun even know the difference between them, yankee-doodle.”

“Well...you’d be right there. But that’s why you’re here, right? To teach me?”

“Are yoooou...hittin’ on me?” Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes, and grabbing Alfred’s forearm with his hand to steady himself. He leaned in a lot closer than what was probably appropriate for a mere balancing act, however. “I think you are...yesh, I can see it in you, like, eye…” Alfred should probably have pulled away at that point. But then the British man grinned, roguish and lopsided, and he had a dimple on one side and it was so _cute_ \--”S’okay, you can hit on me, you look nice enough…”

“‘Nice enough!’ Thanks, I guess,” Alfred replied, doing his best to act like a pillar to steady Arthur, “You’re pretty much off that chair, by the way. You should give it up to that guy behind you, he’s been eyeing it for ages.”

“He can fuck right off!” Arthur yelled, turning to flip off the poor bystander. Thankfully, he used a two-fingered salute, and the poor bystander was more confused than anything. He did finally slide off the chair though, wrapping his arms around Alfred’s neck for balance. Alfred rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling at Arthur’s antics. It felt...familiar, somehow, as if he’d done this one hundred times before in another life. 

“You strike me as a bit of a wild card, huh Arthur?”

Arthur looked up at him, green eyes bright. “You strike me as a pain in the arse.”

And before Alfred could properly reply, Arthur pulled him down to his height, and pressed a solid kiss on his mouth.

This man, this man who Alfred barely even _knew_ , tasted overwhelmingly like gin, and something else, something Alfred felt he’d been missing all his life. Ignoring all the warning signs going off in his head, he wrapped his arms around the slimmer man’s waist, enjoying the feel of his hips grinding against Alfred’s own. Arthur tightened his hold around Alfred’s neck, and Alfred felt warmer and more at peace than he ever had in his life.

_Oh my god. These watches totally know what’s up._

Feeling bolder, Alfred pushed Arthur up against the bar, grinding their hips together to create more friction. This was it. The rest of his life. Dear god, he was so excited to be with this strange man forever. They were going to move in together tomorrow. He was going to meet Alfred’s parents, and they were going to love him, and they were all going to gloss over the fact that this man was clearly an alcoholic crazy person. Alfred bit his soulmate’s bottom lip, and revelled in the responding groan. This was good. After tonight, they had the rest of their lives to figure each other out. Clearly, the universe wished it so.

“Wait,” Arthur gasped, pushing Alfred away suddenly. “No, I-I can’t do this. I believe in the shystem, I have a soulmate, I need to find him…”

“Uh…” Alfred intelligently responded, still lightheaded from their kiss, “Wait, yeah, about that, listen to me…”

“No one can know this happened!” The guy exclaimed, now pulling away from Alfred completely. “It wash okay before...before I knew him, but now I know him, I can’t--”

“Dude seriously, chill,” Alfred said, all senses returning now. “I’m telling you, it’s fine!”

“YOU NEARLY DESTROYED MY HAPPINESS!!” his soul mate shouted, and before Alfred could get another word in (a common theme for the night, it seemed), the Briton punched him in the face, and everything went black.

\------------- 

Sunlight peeked through the blinds, illuminating the uncharacteristically messy room. Books littered the floor, as well as two ties and a tan, heavy longcoat. A trail of shoes and socks led to a modern looking bed, where one Arthur Kirkland, drooling and almost completely dressed, was sprawled out messily. Francis shook his head in disgust.

“Wake up, rosibif. It’s almost one in the afternoon.” Arthur shuffled around on the bed a little, but otherwise remained heavily asleep. Francis, seeing no other option, strode boldly into the room, stomping a bit louder than what was strictly necessary. “Arthur. Wake UP.” He pulled the sheet out from underneath the sleeping Brit, which had the unfortunate effect of flipping him off the bed and onto the floor. Oops. 

“URGH, Francis what the FUCK.” Arthur bitched, looking up miserably at his worst-best friend. Francis threw the sheet back onto his face.

“Get up, Arthur, you look pathetic. Clearly, going out last night was a mistake. We need to get back to finding your mystery man today. You’re lucky Vargas gave us the week off!”

Francis exited the room and waited for Arthur to make himself presentable again. In the meantime, he went through Arthur’s cupboards in search of something edible. Naturally, there was nothing--a sad looking croissant was shoved in the very back of Arthur’s fridge, and Francis found himself considering it. He slammed the fridge closed and went to boil some water instead. Damn Arthur, anyway.

Arthur, meanwhile, was becoming aware of several things. One, his hand ached like a total bitch, and when he looked down at it, he noticed his knuckles were bruised. He groaned unpleasantly--this was a sure sign he’d been in a fight. At least it seemed he had won, because there was no other obvious pain, except for his raging headache. _That’s probably the gin,_ Arthur thought, and wondered for the hundredth time whether he was getting too old for his bouts of binge drinking. Deciding that no, he was not, he made his way to the bathroom, thanking every deity in heaven that he at least did not feel like vomiting. After relieving himself, he washed his hands and face, and felt marginally better. And after brushing his teeth, he felt almost human again. 

While he was undressing, flashes of the previous night began coming back to him. He remembered arguing with the bartender, and threatening him with something...was that who he fought? Arthur doubted it, somehow. He also remembered attempting to order beer and failing miserably and-and...and oh _Christ_ , he’d snogged someone! 

“Nooo,” Arthur whined to himself, trying to remember what happened while he wrestled on light sweater. It wasn’t disastrous, clearly he didn’t sleep with the stranger. He was pretty sure it had been a man...a taller man, though he couldn’t picture any specific features. He also could not recall anything they said to each other, though it must have been a relatively pleasant conversation, to end in a snogging session. Arthur sighed while he looked for his favorite belt. Sometimes he wondered whether it wouldn’t be easier if these god forsaken watches didn’t exist, and it was socially acceptable to climb into bed with some stranger and see where they were at the next morning. From what he remembered, the man had been a very enthusiastic kisser. 

By the time the Brit was dressed and washed, Francis had consumed a full mug of tea and was flipping through the only fashion magazine Arthur owned. Arthur rolled his eyes when he entered the room, and cleared his throat. “Christ, Francis, could you be any more of a stereotype?” He asked, all metaphysical questions about fate and watches forgotten.

Francis looked up briefly, but was soon drawn to the magazine again. “If being a French stereotype is wrong, I do not want to be right.”

Arthur raised his considerable brows at that, and tried not to smile. “Right. What’s the plan, then? I assume you have one, if you’re going to disturb my beauty sleep so.”

“Beauty sleep? Ha!” Francis exclaimed, predictably. “There is nothing beautiful about you, mon cher, I know that is difficult to hear.” He could tell that Arthur was fighting very hard not to break his jaw, and he supposed such restraint should be commended. “I’m not quite sure what to do, but I do know I need to drop something off with Vargas, so let’s go to the office first.”

Arthur frowned at the suggestion, “You want me to go into that hellhole voluntarily? No bloody way, go by yourself, I’ll meet up with you later. I cannot believe you woke me up for this, you fucker.”

Francis pouted, “Arthur,” he started, with the whiniest voice in his repertoire. Arthur braced himself, “Come on, you can see Ludwig, he’s actually in today, and rub the settlement he failed to get in his face!”

That brought Arthur’s smirk out. “Heh, take that Beilschmidt…” Arthur reveled in some schadenfreudian glory before shaking his head and turning back to Francis. “Why do you want me to go so badly? Don’t want to mingle with commoners on a subway by yourself?”

“We can take a taxi, it’s freezing outside,” Francis began, “And...well, I invited Matthew to see the office. You know, show him where I work? And I wanted you to keep us company--”

“For fuck’s sake Francis, have you still not been alone with him?” Arthur interrupted, clearly exasperated. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Most people are planning their weddings by now!”

“I’m trying not to rush things!” Francis replied hastily, “He seems very reserved. Besides, Sourcils, I barely know him, it hasn’t even been a week.”

“I thought you were going to help me find the guy who owns this fucking watch!” Arthur yelled, pointing at the box into which he had thrown the stickered contraption. “What happened to finding him before tomorrow?”

“We will!” Francis reassured him, “But I am out of ideas, and I’m sure Matthew will have some! We can show him the office quickly, then go on an adventure together, hm?”

“You’re a twat, Francis.” Arthur said nastily, though he turned back around to go into his room to gather his things for the outing. He heard Francis sigh with relief behind him. 

Arthur couldn’t blame the Frenchman entirely for his attitude. Despite all the movies about the magic and the “love at first sight” moments the watches produced, it had to be awkward at first, he imagined. Not that he would ever personally know, because his own soul mate was a stupid _idiot_ who didn’t even notice--

Arthur breathed in deeply. Angry thoughts were making his hangover worse. Instead, he focused on getting dressed. Even though they probably wouldn’t be outside for long, Arthur really could not stand the cold. He went to his closet and dug out the heaviest jacket he owned, which engulfed him completely. He also pulled out a thick black scarf and a woolen hat with a silly design. As far as he remembered, the hat covered most of his face, and he looked ridiculous in it. But all that mattered was keeping warm, so he slid it on. 

When he was finished piling on his winter clothes, he went back into the living room, where he found Francis ready to go. After smacking the Frenchman for laughing at him (“All I can see of your face is those monster brows, cherie!”), the two made their way downstairs to the front entrance of Arthur’s building, where they requested a cab. They decided to wait in the lobby until it showed up, because Francis was not wearing the proper footwear for snow, and Arthur hated the cold more than he hated pop music. And that was saying something.

“So, do you remember anything from last night, by the way?” Francis asked, clearly in a cheerier mood now that Arthur had agreed to accompany him. “Your lips look a little swollen, cherie, hehe…”

“Ugh, not a bloody thing.” Arthur said, keeping an eye out on the street for their cab. “After you so fucking rudely woke me up, I became aware that my knuckles are bruised, my head hurts, and I had beer spilt all over the shirt I was wearing. I think I snogged someone and probably got in a fight, but I can’t be sure.”

“Oh, you definitely got in a fight,” Francis said, smirking. “The barkeep kicked you out, we had to go find you on the street after we heard some commotion. Gilbert is very upset with you, by the way, that was his favorite bar in Brooklyn.”

“Ugh, why were we all the way there?” Arthur wondered out loud, now tapping his foot impatiently. While it was probably a bit ridiculous to expect a cab to arrive in less than a minute, he found his patience was wearing thin for the most ridiculous reasons. He needed to calm down before he had some sort of anxiety attack. He was not going to die before any of his brothers did, that was a fact. 

Francis did not reply, and the cab arrived two minutes later. The two went outside, Arthur muscling his way into the front seat, and directed the driver to the entrance of Vargas & Vargas.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred drives irresponsibly, Matthew and Francis fight, and Arthur remains in the dark.

\-------------

“Tell us the part where he punched you in the face again?” Yao was shouting, delighted, from the other room. “That was my favorite part of any story you’ve ever told!”

“You guys are atrocious friends.” Alfred said, looking right at Ivan, and holding an ice pack to his throbbing face. He attempted to ignore Yao’s jeers, though it was proving difficult. “You belong in hell. Worse than hell. You belong in Russia. The non-European part.”

“Oho, now I’m scared.” Ivan replied, not looking up from his laptop. “You didn’t get anything else from him? No addresses, no phone numbers? Work place?

“No. But I don’t care. I want to find him so I can break both of his legs.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. Yes, of course you want to kill him. Just one thing before you do, describe your kiss again for me?” Immediately, Alfred’s eyes became rather unfocused, and he smiled like a complete dope. Ivan nodded. “Right. Now let’s go over it again. British accent?”

“Ivan, I don’t even know if he _has_ a facebook. I told you, he looks older than us. He was wearing tweed for crap’s sake.”

“Well then, he probably has a LinkedIn. In any case, this is what the internet is for, Alfred--stalking people you barely know. Now _let’s go over it again._ ”

“British accent,” Alfred murmured dutifully. “His name was Arthur. He was really dumb and drunk. He smelled like vanilla.”

“Helpful factoid, I’m sure,” Yao said, coming into the living room and moving to sit next to Ivan on the couch. 

“Maybe he’ll find you,” Ivan said, typing everything Alfred was saying into Google. “You told him your name, da?”

“Yeah, but he thinks I’m some random guy. I didn’t actually get around to explaining who I was…”

“How do you even know it’s him, fatty?” Yao asked, sipping his tea, deliberately ignoring the dirty look Alfred shot him. “So you saw him at a mall and his watch was off. That doesn’t mean anything conclusive. What if he’s just some man--”

“Who ALSO has his watch off, yet doesn’t know his soulmate?” Ivan interrupted, still attempting to navigate profiles of ‘Arthur’s’ who live in New York. “Don’t be stupid, Yao.”

“Who are you calling stupid, _bái chī_?” Yao hissed, and Ivan gulped audibly. 

“Прости, дорогoй,” he muttered in Russian, and Yao immediately relaxed. Alfred rolled his eyes. Living in this house of sappiness was disgusting. He couldn’t wait to find Arthur so they could move in together and scream at each other 24/7. It seemed like it would be that type of relationship.

Although, perhaps Alfred should give this some more thought than he had previously. The idea of a soul mate had always been so theoretical that he hadn’t really planned what he was going to do once he found his own. In a way, the watches were a blessing, because they allowed him to concentrate on so many other things, and could trust that he’d find love no matter what. But now that it was happening, he was starting to get nervous. First, what if he didn’t see Arthur again? New York was a big city, and Arthur sounded like he was from London. What if he was only here for the holidays, and would leave by New Year’s? Unless Ivan managed to find him online, the chances of running into the other man seemed very slim. The Universe could possibly come up with _more_ random run-ins, that would be absurd.

And even if he did see Arthur again, there were so many variables that he hadn’t considered before. Arthur looked well-dressed and wealthy, like an upper-class member of the New York elite (even if he didn’t act like it)--what if he acted like a snob when he was sober? What if he thought Alfred and his stamp collection were stupid? What if their personalities didn’t mesh at all? He probably went to Oxford, he looked uppity. Would he want to get involved with a student who was going to be looking for a job soon, who’s life wasn’t yet sorted or stable? Did _Alfred_ want to be with somebody who clearly had his own life in order? And what if Arthur was some sort of Wall Street banker with no soul, like Leonardo DiCaprio?! 

Alfred breathed in deeply, trying not to show Ivan or Yao that he was experiencing a mini-panic attack. The truth was, he’d heard that pretty much everyone went through this sort of anxiety before they met their soul mate--it seemed, however, that most people trusted the system and went along with it. Alfred had heard horror stories about relationships gone wrong due to the watches, but he’d never personally seen something tragic happen because of them. It had been rather uncomfortable, he remembered, when Ivan found out that he would be dating a boy for the rest of his life, considering that he and his entire family had thought he was straight...that had been quite a shit show for the entire Braginsky clan, as Alfred remembered. And yet, even Ivan’s conservative father finally managed to (grumpily) say that he loved Ivan no matter what, and that he would accept the young Chinese boy into his family. And Alfred felt, if all of that had managed to work itself out, there was no way he’d be unhappy in love. He had better karma than Ivan and Yao combined, the universe had to be on his side!

A buzzing interrupted his thoughts, and he vaguely realized his phone was vibrating. He dug it out of his back pocket, and checked who it was. _Matthew Williams_. He groaned, causing Ivan to raise an eyebrow and pause his search.

“Who is it?” Ivan inquired.

“It’s Matthew,” Alfred replied, “Probably calling to drive him somewhere, or complain about that stupid French guy again. Honestly, you’d think he’d call once in a while and ask about _my_ life, you know? Like a good brother would?”

“Haha, what are you going to tell him?” Ivan asked, smirking, “That you somehow managed to lose your watch, your soulmate, and your biology textbook in a span of six days?”

“Yeah, this has not been my week,” Alfred agreed, “But I shouldn’t take that out on him. Gimme a second guys, I’m gonna take this.” He got up off the floor and walked toward the kitchen, for relative privacy, but he tripped on the corner of the carpet. Yao shook his head and Ivan chuckled at Alfred’s clumsiness, and they were rewarded for their concern with a middle finger. “Hey Mattie, what’s up?”

“ _Hello, Al. Are you busy?_ Matthew asked, voice sounding a touch staticy. 

Alfred decided not to tell his brother about the shitstorm of a life he was leading right this second. “Erm, not too much...where are you, what’s going on?”

“ _Um, I’m out in front of my place, but there’s a snowstorm out here. I told Francis I’d meet up with him today, but I don’t really want to walk in this…_ ” 

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Are you serious, Matt? Have him come over to you, I don’t want to drive in this either!”

_“Please, Al?”_ Matthew asked shakily, and Alfred immediately knew he was a goner. Goddamn his brother and his ability to guilt him into anything.“ _You know I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but my apartment is out of his way, and he wants to show me something at his office, I promise I won’t ask again…_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred said, turning back to rummage through a drawer and find his car keys, and deciding not to mention the three other times Matt had asked for a ride this week. Alfred was weak. “You owe me coffee, little brother.”

“ _And a blueberry muffin!_ ” Matthew exclaimed, and Alfred couldn’t help but smile, “ _Thanks, Alfred._ ”

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Alfred replied before hanging up. He stuffed his keys in his pocket, and began rummaging through the drawer again for his wallet. “I’m going out, you guys!” he called to Yao and Ivan, “Can you keep searching while I’m gone?”

“Sure, we’ll do all the work for you while you go out and relax.” Yao deadpanned, but he got up when he saw that Alfred was struggling with his coat. He grabbed one sleeve, and Alfred thanked him. “You sure you told us everything?”

“Yep!” Alfred said, finally managing to wrestle his coat on. “Have you seen my scarf?”

Yao raised an eyebrow, and began digging through the closet behind Alfred. “When will you be back?”

“Soon, I think I just have to drop Mattie off.” Yao nodded, and found Alfred’s scarf stuffed on a lower shelf, carelessly. He resisted the urge to smack the American--heaven forbid he treated the gifts Ivan and Katyusha got him with care!

“Alright, but hurry back! Aya, annoying fat Americans…” Alfred huffed at that, but decided Yao didn’t mean it, and headed out the door instead. He didn’t say goodbye, though. That would show them! He pretended not to hear their resounding laughter as he rushed out of their apartment and into the building’s garage.

It took twenty minutes to get his Jeep out of their tiny parking space and to navigate the icy road to Matthew’s place. Alfred was convinced that it would have taken Matt a shorter time to walk over, but it was too late to complain now. Besides, Matthew’s new beau worked in some fancy office in Manhattan, and with the way this blizzard was blowing, Matthew would have gotten sick for sure. His brother, who lived for most of his life in Toronto, Canada, somehow never managed to figure out how to not fall ill when it was cold out. Go figure. 

As he attempted not to hit any pedestrians jaywalking, Alfred thought about Matthew and his complete absent-mindedness as of late. It was true, his watch had gone off a few days ago, and that was probably keeping him pretty preoccupied. But he _knew_ that Alfred’s was set to go off a few days later than his, and yet he hadn’t even asked about it! That had to be in a rulebook about brotherhood somewhere. Although to be fair, though Alfred knew about Matthew’s new boyfriend, he hadn’t exactly asked after him, or even met him--he’d just heard whatever complaints Matthew had been talking about for the past few days. Francis Bonnefoy apparently wore too much cologne, intimidated Matthew with how good looking he was, had friends who were mean and weird, _was thirty-three years old_ , was relatively wealthy, and worked as a hoity-toity lawyer. Oh, and he was French, with a ridiculous French accent Matthew could barely take seriously. Aside from the disturbing age difference, he sounded decent enough to Alfred, who’d always hated the meek and passive aggressive guys Matthew had secretly been infatuated with in the past. This French guy seemed bold and bizarre, qualities Alfred valued in people for whatever reason. Alfred told himself he’d get to know Francis once he had figured all this shit out with his own soulmate. Maybe they could double date. That probably wouldn’t be weird or awkward at all.

By the time he arrived on Matthew’s street, his brother had already come outside, and was waiting patiently on the pavement. At the sight of Alfred’s car, he still sprinted to the passenger side and swung the door open.

“Hey, careful with that!” Alfred protested as Matthew climbed into the car. Matthew rolled his eyes, but shut the door carefully.

“God, Al, could you have gotten a more inconvenient vehicle for this city?”

“Insult my car again and you can walk, bitch,” Alfred replied, pulling back onto the main street. “Where am I going?”

“Turn right at the next stop, I’ll direct you.” Matthew struggled to remove his coat in the confined space of the car. “Thanks again Alfred, I really do owe you.” 

“Don’t sweat it bro. What is Francis showing you today?” Alfred asked, slowing down to make sure he didn’t hit a pedestrian who was walking in the street. Stupid New-Yorkers, every one of them. Somehow, he didn’t remember the West Coast having this many idiots out and about all the time. 

“I think just his office. I haven’t seen it yet.”

Alfred smiled. “Ah, yeah? It’s super fancy, right?”

Matthew shrugged. “I’m not sure. I was there for an office party, but I only saw part of it. I think he wants to show me where he works specifically.”

Alfred’s smile grew a bit sinister. “Have ya told him where you work yet?” 

“Shut up!” Matthew said, smacking his brother’s shoulder. “He understands that I’m still a student, and it isn’t embarrassing to be working at Starbucks!”

“God, you’re like the poster child of a liberal arts major,” Alfred replied, laughing. “Will you give him free coffee now?”

“It’s not like he needs free anything,” Matthew muttered, and Alfred pretended not to hear. “Besides, I’m excited for today. This is the first time we’re hanging out alone.”

“Really?” Alfred questioned, and turned left when Matthew abruptly directed him to. “You guys haven’t been alone yet? Like...at all?”

“No...but I think it’s good. We’re taking precautions. Besides, this way I can get to know his unpleasant friends better and figure out a way to get him to stop hanging out with them.”

“Aw, come on, they can’t be that bad!”

“They are, though!” Matthew insisted, “First of all, none of them are from around here, they’ve all got thick accents I can barely understand. They’re all from Europe, so they’re all pretentious, and it gets old really fast. Besides, they’re really nasty to each other, and they fight ALL the time. Even Gilbert, and he seemed so nice when I met him! If Francis hadn’t told me they were friends, I’d have taken them for enemies or something.”

Alfred, who’d been told that his relationship with Yao and Ivan seemed very belligerent to an outsider, silently applauded Francis’ choice of companions. “Well, things are probably never boring then!” 

“God, I shouldn’t have told you anything, considering all your friendships. Turn left here.”

“Hey, my friendships are rock solid man, you can’t take that away from me.” Alfred protested, following Matthew’s instructions. “Well, I’m glad you finally get to spend some time with him away from the Eurotrash, hehe. But you’re complaining a lot, Matt, do you even like him?”

Matthew immediately nodded. “I do. He’s pretty charming, and very witty. He has a comeback for everything, and I like that. And he’s really handsome. Like, REALLY handsome, Al, he looks like model or something.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Alfred said, privately thinking that people who were conventionally attractive were sort of overrated. He much preferred an interesting face to a pretty one. Like Arthur’s, for instance. He suppressed a smile. He really hoped he found the bastard again. Not only because if he didn’t he’d probably be doomed to a life of loneliness and exile. Although that was a major factor. Another was that he couldn’t get Arthur’s thick-ass eyebrows out of his head, or his lopsided smile, and he couldn’t quite forget their short lived make out session. It had kind of been on the back of his mind all day, and now, for whatever reason, his brain flooded his vision with the memory of it. He felt himself turning red, and hoped Matthew didn’t notice. He briefly considered mentioning Arthur to Matthew, but then he’d have to deal with his brother screaming at him, about how irresponsible and unobservant he was, and he didn’t really feel like getting bitched out. So he said nothing. Matthew clearly had other things on his mind anyway. 

“Turn right here, it should be the next street over.” Matthew said, breaking their silence. Alfred sighed in relief--his brother hadn’t noticed anything. 

They pulled up in front of a tall office building, sleek and corporate looking. Alfred scrunched up his nose. He didn’t have anything against lawyers personally, but he couldn’t figure out how they could stand to push papers around in a cubicle all day. He really hoped he would never meet the same fate. 

“Oh, no, come on,” Matthew muttered, and Alfred turned to look at him.

“What is it?”

“That’s Francis!” Matthew pointed at two figures getting out of a cab. “With someone else! Goddamn it, I thought we were going to be alone today!” He flung the passenger door open and jumped out of the car. 

“Hey, I said watch it!” Alfred shouted after Matthew slammed the door shut. He quickly turned off his engine, hoping he wouldn’t get a ticket for parking in a red zone. He opted to stay in the car, however--his brother looked to be on the war path. In any case, Matt had been right, Francis was not alone. A figure that was so bundled up it looked like a marshmallow was next to him. From across the street, Alfred couldn’t get a very good look, but he snorted at the sight of the figure anyway--someone was clearly not a New Yorker.

“Do you not _want_ to be alone with me?!” Matthew was shouting, and Alfred was surprised to find that his normally meek brother could shout loud enough to be heard from across the street. Francis Bonnefoy looked equally surprised, from what Alfred could make out. “Are we never going to have a conversation without one of your friends butting in?”

The Elusive Francis looked to be making some sort of apology, but Matthew interrupted him with another yell. Alfred didn’t pay too much attention though, because the ridiculously bundled up stranger had began inching back away from Francis, slowly but surely, and he looked so stupid that Alfred had to laugh. At some point, Francis reached out to grab the stranger’s arm, effectively stopping his escape, and setting Matthew off on another tirade. The stranger looked so put out that Alfred was uproariously laughing at this point. At his obnoxious laughter, the bundled up figure turned to look right at him (at least, it seemed like it--Alfred couldn’t really tell from the hat). He seemed to be watching Alfred intently now, effectively creeping the blonde out. Well, that would teach Alfred to laugh at other people’s misery.

“You know what? Call me when you grow the fuck up,” Matt said snidely, and began to stomp back to the Jeep. Alfred tore his gaze from the stranger and began rolling his window up. By the time Matt opened the door, Alfred had the engine and the heat on. He gestured to the passenger seat, and Matthew slumped into it. He turned to look back at the two men across the street. Francis, who was every bit as handsome as Matt had claimed, looked devastated--Alfred wished he could tell him it would all be okay, but Matt would probably murder both of them if he did, so he resisted the urge to shout. The stranger, meanwhile, looked lumpy. Alfred liked them both already.

“Drive, please, Alfie?” Matt muttered piteously, and Alfred complied.

\-------------

“Merde,” Francis cursed, as he hung up his phone for the third time. “He is not answering! How are we supposed to resolve anything if he does not answer?!” Despite the lack of response, he started to dial again.

“Did you…” Arthur said, quietly, still looking in the direction that the black Jeep had sped away. “Francis, did you see that bloke who was driving Matthew’s car?”

“Answer your phone, putain!” Francis yelled at his phone. “Answer or we are not going to have a good time--”

“He looked...familiar?” Arthur interrupted, not noticing that Francis hung up the phone and was now glaring at him. “I couldn’t really see him, did you see him? How does he know Matthew? He looked blonde, or dirty blonde, or--” 

“ARTHUR SHUT UP!” Francis yelled. “Can’t you see I am having a bit of a crisis here?!” 

“I told you that it was weird you haven’t been alone with him ages ago.” Arthur said, finally turning to face his friend. “Seriously though, that guy looked really familiar, yeah?”

“That was Matthew’s brother, now will you shut up about him?!” Francis looked at his phone again, trying to decide whether another phone call was worth the inevitable frustration. 

Arthur nodded. “...He was pretty fit. And a lot better looking than your boyfriend, haha.” He barely ducked out of the way of Francis’ fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more! WOO.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Universe does it's job, and Alfred finds Arthur in the most convoluted way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note on England's brothers (though they're hardly OC's at this point, they're practically canon):
> 
> Alastair: Scotland  
> Dylan: Wales  
> Seamus: Ireland  
> Sean: Northern Ireland

\------------- 

For the next few days, Alfred tried in vain to cheer Matthew up. He visited his brother everyday after class, bringing him Chinese food and alcoholic beverages. While the Chinese was complimentary (thank all-mighty Christ Yao worked at his family-run Chinese restaurant, otherwise both surviving members of the Jones-Williams family would starve), the alcohol was putting quite a strain on Alfred’s limited budget. Still, he loved his brother, even when he was acting like a sniveling mess. So when he found out Matthew and Francis had not made up by Christmas Eve, he naturally invited Matthew to spend it with himself, Yao, and Ivan, like he did every year. It was the right thing to do. Probably.

Imagine his surprise when his brother was already busy with other ‘business’, as Matthew put it.

“Alfred, you know I spend every Christmas Eve volunteering at the shelter,” Matthew was saying while the two brothers were attempting to shop for Alfred’s upcoming feast. “I wasn’t going to give that up for my soulmate, and I sure as hell am not going to do it for this monstrosity you and Ivan call Christmas.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, but silently agreed with Matthew. What he, Ivan, and Yao usually did on Christmas could not possibly constitute as traditional in any sense. Yao did not celebrate Christmas at all, and Ivan seemed to have an identity crisis every Christmas about his religion and his devotion to Russia’s traditions (Russia, as Alfred had found out, had not celebrated Christmas while it was under communist rule, a fact that solidified the Eastern European nation as the evil empire in Alfred’s mind--not that he’d ever tell Ivan, of course). As a result, the trio always had an unconventional Christmas, of sorts, consisting of dumplings, Russian bread, and good old McDonalds. It was all sorts of wrong, as Matthew put it. But it was theirs.

However, Matthew’s selflessness was bumming Alfred out a little, as it did every year, so he decided to remind Matthew of his misery. Occasionally, he was the worst brother ever.

“Are you gonna keep blocking Francis’ calls when you’re at the shelter?” Alfred inquired, inspecting a head of cabbage. Matthew immediately stiffened. “Or, will you let some Christmas cheer into your cold, dreary heart, and answer him?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Matthew ground out, taking the cabbage out of Alfred’s hands and throwing it into their shopping basket, “You’ve been nothing but unhelpful about this whole thing. Leave me alone, alright?”

But Alfred, who spent every day steadily losing hope that he would ever see his own soul mate again, was beginning to drive himself into a nasty mood. Why did Matthew, who got upset over the tiniest of things, get to meet his soul mate, only to go and not appreciate him? This Francis guy was perhaps not what either of them had in mind when they were growing up (“I want mine to be a handsome Prussian knight!” “Uh, is Prussian a type of snack…”), he was still supposed to be with Matthew forever, damn it, and his brother was barely giving him a chance.

“Why should I?” Alfred said, referring to Matthew’s earlier question, “You’re being a little bitch about it. I figure I’d do the guy a solid and point it out to you.”

Matthew’s countenance quickly turned cold, a sure sign Alfred had really pissed him off. Great. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be giving me advice about my love life, Alfred.”

Alfred threw some carrots into their basket forcefully, causing Matthew to almost drop it, “I may not be super experienced, but I know you, bro. You’re passive-aggressive at the best of times. And isn’t communication the key to relationships and all that shit--”

“You don’t know ANYTHING, Alfred!!” Matthew shouted, suddenly, causing a few passerby’s to look in their direction. “Are you seriously talking about communication? You, who has a grand total of two friends, because you drove everyone else away with how arrogant and unpleasant you are?” 

“Hey, come on, that’s not--”

“Or perhaps you think yourself an expert on these things because of the copious amount of relationships you’ve had in the past?” Matthew interrupted, now on a roll. Alfred recognized all the signs of an upcoming rant about all his flaws, and gulped. He could only hope he wouldn’t cry this time. “Oh, but I forgot, you have had a total of ZERO relationships in your lifetime! ZERO. Even for devotees to the watches, that is pathetic!”

“That is not true!” Alfred defended, “I had a relationship with Kiku--”

“Oh, Kiku!!” Matthew laughed, somewhat deliriously, “Well, of course, how could I forget the lovely Kiku, who you never saw in person, and who spent the majority of the time silently playing video games with you from halfway across the world!”

“...It doesn’t make it any less real, Matt,” Alfred said, a bit hurt by the comment. Matthew, detecting Alfred’s change in mood, quickly softened.

“I’m sorry, Al,” he said, reaching for his brother’s shoulder with the arm not carrying the grocery basket. Alfred let the awkward side-hug happen, glad that his brother had not meant it. “I’m just upset too. I know I’m being sort of irrational, but this is an important issue to me, you know? And I barely know Francis, I need to see how he handles...this,” he gestured to himself, and Alfred grinned.

“I think I see what you mean,” he replied. “In that case, pout away. I guess Francis really needs to understand what he’s getting himself into.

“Shut up.” Matthew answered, curt once more, and Alfred had to laugh. 

As the two meandered around the store, looking for Yao’s very specific brand of pork, Alfred thought about how hanging around Matthew was distracting him from falling into a panic over Arthur. While he was trying to cheer up his baby brother, he was not hopelessly searching the internet, frantically looking for clues about where his elusive soul mate could possibly be. He’d walked by the stupid mall the two had met so many times he’d memorized it’s floor plan. He’d even gone back to the bar where they’d met again, hoping to get lucky, but the bartender had laughed in his face when he’d explained his story. Worst of all, his mom had started calling every day, multiple times, and Ivan figured it was because she’d put two and two together, and was wondering why Alfred was not introducing anyone to his new soul mate yet. They’d started screening her calls. It was awkward for everyone. Especially Alfred, who did not need yet another reminder of how he was going to be alone forever. And it certainly didn’t help that Ivan and Yao wouldn’t shut up about Arthur, either! Alfred knew they were both trying to be helpful, but they weren’t, they were just making his extremely depressed…

He looked over at Matthew, who was in the process of inspecting cookies, and willed himself to think about something other than his situation with Arthur. Like his lovely situation with Matthew! He and Matthew hadn’t had a regular childhood growing up, due to their parent’s divorce when they were very young. It was only after they both got accepted into Columbia that they began to get closer. Alfred loved New York, even more than he’d loved LA, for this reason exactly. All these opportunities to spend time together with Matthew...and they hadn’t even spent a single Christmas together. Hm. 

“Hey, Matt…” Alfred said, startling Matthew out of a reverie. 

“Yes?”

“...Listen, I was thinking. I still wanna spend Christmas Eve with you and all that jazz. I know you were hoping Francis would come with you to the shelter this year, but why don’t I come instead? Do you still need a Santa?”

Matthew’s eyes widened, and seemed to glitter with childish glee, “You wanna be the Santa?”

Alfred smiled at his brother’s response, “Of course! Sounds fun, haha, and I’m sure Ivan and Yao won’t mind, they’d probably just be thankful no one got McDonald’s…”

“Oh, Alfred, this’ll be great! I have just the suit for you, and all the kids will love it…” Matthew gushed, clearly no longer listening. Alfred rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, fine, yeah, it’ll be great. Now, when you say ‘just the suit for me’...”

\--------------

“SURPRISE!!”

“ _What the fuck!!_ ” Arthur exclaimed, dropping all his bags to the floor, and flinching at the sound of broken glass. Welp, there went the frog’s present. 

“Oh, poppet, how crude…” Arthur looked up from his fallen packages, and pinched himself, to no avail. It was no vision. There, in his living room, stood his parents, his four older brothers, their wives, and his litter of nieces and nephews, all standing with their muddy shoes on his newly polished hardwood floors. He had very mixed feelings about the situation.

“...Mum, dad…?” he began, but was immediately interrupted by his oldest brother.

“C’mere, you little bugger!” Alastair exclaimed, pushing past his children and walking towards Arthur, arms outstretched.

“What are you lot doing here?!” Arthur said, lovingly, “You could’ve rung me beforehand, bloody hell, I didn’t even--Christ, Alastair, you’re crushing me!!”

“Still a total girl, hm, Wart?” Alastair replied boisterously, squeezing Arthur until the younger man had trouble breathing. Arthur’s father and his two other brothers began chortling loudly, and Arthur found himself nostalgic for all the wrong reasons.

“And what’s wrong with being a girl, Uncle Allie?” asked Alice, one of Arthur’s youngest nieces. Her father, Dylan, immediately stopped laughing, and Alastair winced. Arthur, meanwhile, felt his mood improve. He loved that his family finally expanded to include more women and girls--even if they did not appreciate his love of knitting and cooking, they at least defended him against his “macho” siblings. 

“Absolutely nothing’s wrong with being a girl, love,” Arthur said, smacking Alastair on his back and making his way to the rest of his family. “Look, it isn’t as if I’m not glad to see you all, but really, not one phone call…?” 

“We wanted to surprise you!” Arthur’s father, who looked nothing like Arthur at all (with the exception of his infamous Kirkland eyebrows), said. “Don’t worry, we’re all staying in a hotel close by, you don’t have to put us up.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” Arthur exclaimed, and went to embrace his father. His parents both simultaneously rolled their eyes, but were careful not to let Arthur see. He had always been a sensitive baby. 

\---------------

“I can’t believe mum kicked us out.” Alastair grumbled, nursing a beer in a bar near Arthur’s apartment, “We weren’t _really_ in the way…”

“You absolutely bloody were in the way!” Arthur yelled, slamming his own tankard of beer down on the table, ignoring that a quarter of it spilled on Dylan’s arm, “I, meanwhile, own the fucking flat, and she has the gall to kick me out! Of my own living space!”

“Don’t make this any worse, Arthur,” Dylan sniffed, glancing distastefully at his beer covered arm. Arthur stuck his tongue out at him.

He couldn’t believe his bad luck. He’d had what could only be described as the worst week of his life. After several more failed searches for his soul mate, he’d fallen into a temporary depression that none of his friends had known what to do about. Because he didn’t need to go to work, he laid around in sweatpants eating Nutella out of a jar and calling Francis, Gilbert, Mathias, and even Antonio, to complain about how he would never find love ever again. Francis, who wasn’t having the best of times with his own love life, promptly told Arthur to fuck off and stop bothering all of them, which only made Arthur feel worse. By the time he was somewhat out of his funk, it had been two days before Christmas, in which he had to go buy last minute presents for his entire family, all his friends, and most of his coworkers. He could barely deal with crowded places at the best of times, and malls on the day before Christmas were a special sort of hell. He’d yelled at store clerks all day, even though he knew it wasn’t their fault he’d been too stupid to do his shopping beforehand, and he felt guilty about it the entire cab ride back home. He might have felt guilty for a lot longer than that if the shock of his entire family squeezed into his living room hadn’t nearly given him a heart attack. 

He was grateful, however much he complained outwardly. His family, annoying as they were, at the very least were an amazing distraction. Even if they did completely invade his home and kick him out of it. To be fair to his mother, Arthur, Alastair, and Dylan were too much for most people to handle when they were together, and it had been that way since they were children. They were even more rambunctious than Sean and Seamus, the twins of the Kirkland family, who were both a little more distant from Arthur especially now that everyone was an adult. It could be argued that despite everything, Arthur’s brothers were far more successful adults. Though Arthur was by far the wealthiest, each of his brothers was broad, handsome, and charismatic, with a wife by their side and perfectly adorable children running circles around them. Arthur, meanwhile, had a watch with stupid American flag stickers and a frog as a best friend. It simply wasn’t fair. 

“Why’d she kick us out only though? Sean was being an arse, too.” 

“Let it go,” Dylan groaned, “It’s probably because Sean can cook.”

“I can--”

“NO.” the two shouted together decisively, and Arthur decided to drop the matter. They’d had this argument too many times.

“Cooking abilities aside, I think I’m old enough to not be kicked out of my own bloody house--”

“Arthur, where’s your watch?” Dylan interrupted suddenly, succeeding in shutting Arthur up immediately (a rare feat for any of the Kirkland brothers). Alastair, who had been preparing to ignore Arthur’s rant about cooking, perked up as well. 

“His watch?” Alastair, asked, now looking at Arthur’s bared wrist, where his sleeve had ridden up. Arthur, for his part began drinking his beer in earnest.

“Heh...what d’you mean?” he asked after a hearty swig, “I-it’s just ridden up a bit on my arm…”

“Oh, is that so?” Dylan said sarcastically, “Well, pardon our intrusion, then. Would you mind letting us see it then? Just to make sure, you understand?”

Arthur, seeing no way out of his dilemma, finished the rest of his beer in one gulp.

“You can’t tell mum,” he finally said.

“ _Where is it?!_ ” Alastair shouted at his brother, all semblance of calmness between them eradicated, “And where’s the bloke, where’s your damn soul mate?!”

“Hang on, how did you know it was a man--”

“Are you fucking kidding me Arthur, just answer the question--”

“I DON’T KNOW!!” Arthur roared, louder for once than both his brothers combined. “Would I be with you wankers on fucking Christmas Eve if I did?!”

And with both of his brothers staring at him like deer in headlights, Arthur realized he had a lot of explaining to do.

\--------------

“And Merry Christmas to you too!” Alfred said to a little boy as he handed him a present. A present that used to be his. A video game console that he in no way was done with, but Matt had guilted him into parting with it for the sake of Christmas. As Alfred watched watched the young child bounce away happily, he gritted his teeth and tried not to feel bitter. He was a privileged asshole, but damn it, he used to be a privileged asshole with a PS4.

“Alright kids, let’s give Santa a break!” Matthew called out, perhaps sensing the fact that the gift of giving was doing nothing to curb Alfred’s worsening mood. Of course, all the damn kids cheerfully heeded Matthew’s suggestion, and scattered, leaving Alfred alone on an uncomfortable chair wearing a fat suit and a beard. 

“Thanks again for doing this, Alfred,” Matthew said sweetly, with Alfred grunting in response. “It’s clear they all love you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred replied, secretly charmed by all the little munchkins. He was finally starting starting to understand why Matthew spent so much time helping out the less fortunate. It sure as hell took his mind off of everything but making sure the little kids he was trying to make happy didn’t bite him. “It’s all fine, and stuff. You just owe a new PS4.”

Matthew laughed airily, and Alfred wasn’t sure the younger man understood he was serious. 

“Anyway, you can probably go change now, I’ll tell them Santa had to fly back for the North Pole.”

“Good riddance for that,” Alfred said, but accepted Matthew’s kiss on the cheek good naturedly. He waved goodbye to the kids, and found himself oddly pleased when they all waved excitedly back. He made his way back to an abandoned room at the back of the shelter, where he had left all of his clothes and wallet. He was also itching to get on his phone--it had been fun, spending the night with Matthew, doing what he loved, but he had been unable to have his phone on his for four straight hours. The separation anxiety was starting to creep in.

Which was why when he finally found the room (he’d ended up getting lost, and Matthew had found him wandering about a restriction section of the building--he’d gotten an earful for that, of course) he sprinted to his bag to dig out his cellphone. He was expecting no notifications, perhaps another frantic text from his mother at best. Which was why he was rather surprised he had five missed calls from both Ivan and Yao. Each.

“Shit,” Alfred muttered, hoping that he hadn’t missed another emergency. One year ago, he hadn’t picked up his phone, and it had turned out it was Ivan calling from jail to be bailed out. Long story short, when he had finally been released, he punched Alfred so hard the American lost a tooth. It hadn’t been a particularly important tooth. But a tooth nonetheless. He called Yao first, just to be safe.

“ _Alfred!!_ ” Yao shouted, answering on the first ring. Alfred was already bewildered, especially since Yao never called him ‘Alfred’ if he could help it. “ _Alfred, where are you?!_ ”

“Uuuh, with Matt at the shelter, remember?”

“ _HE’S WITH THE BROTHER,_ ” Yao shouted, clearly no longer talking to Alfred. He listened as Yao and Ivan wrestled each other for the phone, and wondered if it wasn’t too late to hang up on them and just go get pizza. 

“ _Alfred_ ,” Ivan finally said, breathless, having emerged the winner of the spat, “ _We found him._ ”

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, “...Who?”

Ivan didn’t answer right away. “ _...What do you mean, who? Who have we been looking for these past two weeks?!_ ”

And finally, something clicked in Alfred’s brain, “Wait...y-you guys found Arthur? THE Arthur?!”

“ _YES!_ ” Ivan shouted, “ _Arthur Kirkland, to be exact. And he knows your brother._ ”

A pause. Alfred shook his head. “What do you mean...knows my...Matt? He knows Matt?”

“ _Da, I just--_ ”

“HOW would he know Matt? Don’t you think if he knew--”

“ _Alfred, you are my best friend and I am trying very hard not to hang up on you out of frustration, so shut the fuck up, da? We know what Arthur looks like, you have described him to us in painstaking detail. Today Yao and I were looking at pictures of you and your brother on facebook, because you are not photogenic and you look ugly--_

“Why you fucking--”

“ _\--but we were bored so we kept looking at his pictures, and we found some of his boyfriend, and guess who in in several pictures with Francis Bonnefoy?_ ” 

“Wait...what?” Alfred breathed, eyes wide. He felt his heartbeat racing, and the color begin to drain from his face. “Are you--”

“ _We couldn't find him in our initial searching because he has no personal profile._ ” Alfred heard Yao saying, understanding that he must now be on speakerphone, “ _But he is in a lot of these photos, and the comments talk about him. It says things about him being English, being from London, being thirty. I have to warn you, it doesn’t seem like he is very well liked…_ ”

But Alfred was no longer listening. Yao and Ivan’s words echoed in his head, in a loop, in a chant. _Your brother knows Arthur, your brother knows Arthur, YOUR BROTHER KNOWS ARTHUR--_

Without even bothering to thank them, Alfred hung up on Ivan and Yao (he was sure to hear about it later) and tore out the room, still in a beard and a fat suit. He passed several children on his quest to hunt down Matthew, feeling very little guilt that it seemed Santa was ignoring a child’s call. He could blame it on Matt, who did seem to be dropping the ball lately, to say the _least_.

He found him in the dining area, cleaning up the eatery. Matthew, perhaps feeling the intense stare Alfred was dishing out, looked up from his task and smiled. “Oh...hey? Have you decided to stay after all? You should probably still change out of the suit…”

“Matt,” Alfred interrupted, “Do you know someone named Arthur?”

Matthew frowned, and put down the rag he was cleaning with, “Arthur? Why?”

“Just…” Alfred deeply inhaled, and tried not to scream in his brother’s face. He also ignored the phone that was now insistently buzzing in his hand. He reckoned Ivan didn’t take too kindly to being hung up on… “Just tell me, okay? Do you know an Arthur?”

“I mean…” Matthew said, unease marring his features, “I do know one. He’ s Francis’ friend, one of the Europeans I was telling you about? I don’t know if that’s who you’re asking about, he’s the rudest--”

“Does he have a soulmate?” Alfred interrupted, breathing deeper to stay in control of his actions.

“A soulmate...um...well, it’s funny actually--” Alfred didn’t dare breathe, “--he does, but he doesn’t know who he is. His watch went off in the middle of a mall, and the guy who he thinks it was got away from him. I think that’s why he’s been in...but, Alfred, why are you asking? How do you even know him?”

By now, Alfred was excited and outraged at the same time, which served to make his face a very interesting shade of purple. Matthew looked concerned, and attempted to approach his brother, slowly. “Alfred…?”

“Hey, Matt.” Alfred started, “I know we haven’t lived in close proximity for a long time, and I was really thankful when you decided to come to University in America so we could finally be brothers. That was great. It’s great, because we now know some basic facts about each other. I, for instance, know that your birthday is three days before mine. It’s quite funny. Do you know basic facts about me?”

“Alfred, what’s going on?” 

“Basic facts like...what day does my watch come off?”

Matthew kept staring at him with concern. “Of course I know, who do you take me for--”

“Okay, when?”

“Well, I mean, it was about three da….three days...after…” this time, Matthew’s eyes widened in horror, “...three days after mine.”

“Yeah.” Alfred said, walking over to his brother and pulling Matthew’s cellphone out of his jacket pocket. “Yeah.”

Matthew stood, frozen in shock, as Alfred stole his phone and unlocked it with ease. On any other day, it would have concerned him that his brother knew his password without ever having asked for it, but the conversation about boundaries was clearly one meant for a later date. “Wh-what are you doing--”

“Calling Francis.” Alfred said, curtly, and Matthew found he didn’t have it in his heart to protest.

\--------------

It had turned out to be a good decision, letting his mother cook everything, Arthur thought as he shoveled meat and potatoes down his throat. Though he himself was a good cook, his mother (and Sean, loathe as he was to admit it) were far superior. For once, he wasn’t half starving and attempting to fill the void with tea and alcohol. 

However, he wasn’t sure if the pro of not being starved for once outweighed the con of Dylan and Alastair's constant staring. He’d made sure to wear a longer sleeved sweater, and took care to not let it ride up, but the damage was done when it came to his brothers. He could tell Alastair was having a particularly hard time not saying anything, if his wide-eyed blank staring was any indication. Even Arthur’s father was starting to notice something was wrong, and he hadn’t noticed the time Arthur and Dylan had teamed up to put lice in his hair. Needless to say, Alastair was not being subtle. Arthur tried to kick him under the table, but ended up kicking Seamus instead, who immediately protested by slamming his palms down on the table and spilling Arthur’s very expensive wine.

The joys of family. 

“Boys,” Arthur’s mother said with a warning tone, “you must--”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“That’s for me!” Arthur proclaimed, quickly jumping out of his seat and running to his front door. He wasn’t expecting anybody of course, but his family, bless their hearts , made him long for distractions in any form. However, perhaps he should have been careful with what he wished for, because when he pulled his door open, he found a rather chubby, bearded hobo on the other side. It looked like he could have been wearing a Santa suit, except for the fact that is was covered in grime and dirt, and his beard was in knots, and he seemed to be panting and out of breath.

“Arth-ur-Kirk-land,” the man wheezed, and Arthur realized he was probably a victim of a creepy stalker. 

“Arthur Kirkland doesn’t live here, and he never has. I don’t know who that is, I’ve never heard such a name in my life. Goodbye.” he said curtly before slamming the door on the homeless man’s face. Normally he wasn’t quite so cold (at least to those less fortunate than himself), but the fact that the man knew his name creeped him out on a serious level. He decided not to tell his family of his predicament, however, lest his brothers latch onto something _new_ to tease him about. Instead, he walked back to the dinner table calmly. He noticed that the knocking kept persisting, but he attempted to ignore it.

“Wrong flat,” he said, pleasantly, returning to the dinner table. Now he ALSO had to attempt to ignore the weird looks his entire family was giving him. Lovely. 

“Is that why they’re still knocking?” Seamus questioned, and Arthur did his best not to throw anything at him. 

“Yes, well. He seemed a little delusional. What do you expect from New York, hm?” his mother looked frightened, and the rest of his guests kept gawking at him. “Look, I’m sure he’ll leave soon, this building does have security--”

“ _ARTHUR KIRKLAND!!_ ” came a muffled cry from his front door, “ARTHUR I KNOW THAT WAS YOU, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

“I’m calling the coppers,” Arthur’s father deadpanned, and Arthur buried his head in his arms while the rest of his family proceeded to freak out. 

“ _Arthur,_ ” a much softer voice called out, causing Arthur to perk up. “Arthur, i-it’s Matthew...open the door please, we need to talk to you…”

“Arthur do you need me to take care of these people for you?” Alastair asked, cracking his knuckles threateningly. 

“For Christ’s SAKE,” Arthur cursed, and stomped back to the living room, leaving his family to make the calls and threats they wanted. He paused in front of his door and peered through the peephole. Sure enough, Matthew stood side-by-side with the hobo, looking anxious as usual. Well, it looked like Francis was going to be getting an arse-kicking soon, for giving away his address no easily, no doubt about it. 

He opened the door, scowling unattractively. “May I help you, gentlemen?” 

“I’m NOT going to let you get away again!!” the bearded man yelled, muscling his way past Arthur and through the front door. Before Arthur could protest the man-handling, the man turned around, eyes wild. “Do you have my watch?”

Arthur froze, “D-do I...what?”

“Arthur, THIS is your soulmate?!” Arthur heard Alastair shout, and to his horror, he saw his entire family looking through into the living room, and staring at the man in horror. 

“Your soulmate?!” his mother screeched, turning pale.

“HOLY SHIT, _SHUT UP_!!” the man yelled, and miraculously, everyone obeyed his command. Even Arthur found himself at a shocking loss for words. Matthew seemed to be the only one who wasn’t bothered by the stranger’s shouting, but as Arthur had no idea what Matthew was doing in his home in the first place, he didn’t find this tidbit very helpful. The man turned to Arthur, looking him straight in the eyes. They were the clearest shade of blue Arthur had ever seen. “Arthur, I asked, do you have my watch? My name is Alfred Jones, my watch came off the same day yours did, and I think we’re soulmates. I’ve been trying to find you for quite a while now, and you have no idea how glad I am to finally see you sober and attentive…”

“A-anyway, my watch is black and it has American flag stickers on it. I got them custom-made and extra sticky when I was thirteen. I know that our meeting isn’t...uh, perfect, but...” he said, seemingly losing steam now that everybody was looking at him expectantly.

Arthur stared at this man, this man who was wearing a dirty Santa suit, who looked to be at least one-hundred pounds heavier than Arthur, and who had a snow-white beard. Then he looked at Matthew, whose presence no one had yet explained. He also turned to look at his family, lined up in the corridor, staring in horror at the scene unfolding. 

Finally, he looked at his reflection in the nearest window, nodded to himself, and promptly fainted.

\--------------

When Arthur came-to, he noticed several things. First, he was laying on his own bed, which he knew because it smelt of his cologne, and also because he could see his stuffed unicorn, Sir Crumpet, in his peripheral vision. Second, his family had probably left the flat, because there was no longer shouting and screeching. And finally, he noticed the same pair of blue eyes from earlier, staring at him from above. And with that revelation, he immediately tried to sit up.

“Woah, easy there…” his guest said, reaching over to steady Arthur. When Arthur felt looked over at him, he noticed that though the eyes were the same ones from earlier, the stranger certainly looked different.

In place of the rather dirty Santa from before stood a relatively young man, with sleek blonde hair. Arthur took his time in observing him--tall, muscular, tanned, with a great jawline and nice broad hands. He was also wearing a rather tight-shirt (which Arthur would later label as a plus).

“Where is the fat Santa from before?” Arthur asked hurriedly, “Are you the fat Santa from before? Because for the record, with the month I’ve had, I will gladly take the fat Santa as my soulmate.” The stranger smiled, and Arthur immediately felt more at ease.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but I don’t normally look like that, haha. My name’s also Alfred, in case you don’t remember.” 

“Oh, right…” Arthur said, looking up at Alfred’s pretty face. It began to hit him, who this man really was. “Alfred...you’re my soul mate…” he said with reverence.

Alfred, who had seen Arthur drunk, belligerent, rude, passed out, and had met his rather obnoxious family, was a little less in awe of his new partner. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the feeling of happiness bubbling up inside of him. Not only because it finally seemed he’d hunted down the man he’d been looking for (though that was certainly an element), but because he was already quite fond of Arthur, despite everything, and that probably the most he’d ever felt for anyone in such a short amount of time. Their initial distance had made him fifteen times more grateful now that he had Arthur within his grasp, and he was already excited to see what the world had in store for them. 

“I am indeed, Arthur,” Alfred replied, smiling brightly.

“You’re my soul mate…” Arthur repeated, this time with a little less wonder in his voice, “...and you saw my entire family...and you know Matthew, who hates me--”

“Hate is a...strong word--”

“Bloody hell, I’ve made a terrible impression on you!” Arthur interrupted, wide-eyed, and steadily turning red, “God, what have they been saying about me?!”

“Uh…” Alfred stalled, thinking about how Arthur’s brothers had told him Arthur was whiny, high maintenance, and spoiled, “...we didn’t really get a chance to talk. They felt it’d be better if you and I were alone for a while.” The truth was, Alfred had to physically muscle out Arthur’s family with all the strength he possessed, but that probably wouldn’t ease the troubled Brit’s mind. 

“Oh,” Arthur said, looking relieved. “That’s good, I suppose.” He then proceeded to grin, the same slightly lopsided grin that Alfred had seen at the bar. “What a fucking month, yeah?”

Alfred laughed, “Tell me about it! You’ve been pretty hard to track down, you know.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur said, “This whole thing could have been avoided entirely if you’d been paying attention that day when we were shopping.” 

Alfred nodded in agreement, “Yeah, I guess that’s true. Although, I mean, you noticed before me, I don’t know why you didn’t just come up to me…”

“I tried!” Arthur protested, sitting up further in the bed, “I did, I was yelling after you and everything! I just, I...I mean, I sort of tripped over, and collided with a kid, and his father was a prick of course so we got into a bit of a scuffle--”

“That seems to be a common problem for you.” Alfred said.

“What, how do you know that?!”

Alfred shrugged, “I ran into you at that bar, in Brooklyn?” Arthur still looked confused, so Alfred elaborated, “You were with Francis, and some other people. You stole my seat, remember? And you drank my coke because you thought it was beer, and, uh…” Alfred cleared his throat, a little annoyed that the Brit still looked so lost, “I, well, we sort of made out? And then--”

“Oh my god, that was _you_?” Arthur exclaimed, recognition coloring his features, and Alfred grinned, pleased their make out session had made as much of an impression on a drunk Arthur as it did on him. 

“Haha, yep, that was me! Long story short, you sort of punched me, and I’m assuming went to go pick a fight with some other people.”

Arthur suddenly remembered an angry bartender and a bruised fist. “Wait, if you knew who I was, why didn’t you tell me then we were soulmates?”

At the question, Alfred shifted uncomfortable, “Uh, well I mean, I...was kinda distracted.” 

Arthur shook his head, “Bloody hell, what an incredible coincidence…”

Alfred shrugged, not sure how to respond. It was a thought that he himself had had many times in the course of the past hour, but he decided not to question fate too much, lest she punish his insolence with loneliness once more.

“And...Matthew?” Arthur asked, while Alfred winced, attempting to will the dark thoughts he was currently having about his brother away.

“Yeah, he’s my brother.” At Arthur’s shocked countenance, Alfred chuckled slightly, “Talk about incredible coincidences, right?” Arthur nodded, still slack jawed. He also failed to respond to Alfred’s admission. 

“So...this is your place, then?” Alfred asked, breaking their momentary silence, and taking the opportunity to indulge his curiosity (now that his big declaration was out of the way, he hoped he and Arthur could hold a more common conversation). When he’d first ran into Arthur’s home, he hadn’t taken much notice of the building or the neighborhood, or even registered them when Matthew had been giving directions. But after Arthur had passed out, and his family had been ushered away (and Matthew had FINALLY stopped apologizing long enough to go wait in the car), Alfred had finally looked around and Arthur’s place and concluded the Brit must be some sort of millionaire. His apartment, though only a single bedroom, was spacious with large windows and hardwood floors. All of his furniture looked upscale and stylish, the kind of stylish that one could achieve only by using a professional contractor or designer. And from what Alfred had heard so far, Arthur didn’t seem the type to personally bother with ‘style’. Alfred’s own place was tiny, cramped, and had all the ‘style’ of a schizophrenic hoarder. Though the three friends managed to afford a two bedroom apartment, they mostly relied on Yao’s profitable restaurant, with Alfred and Ivan constantly promising that they would pay their share when they eventually graduated. 

“Hm? Oh yes.” Arthur finally answered after some time. “It is indeed mine. One of the many perks of my job.” he turned to Alfred, smiling once more. “Feel free to think of it as yours as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, man,” Alfred said, placing a broad hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “We have a lot to talk about, baby.” 

\--------------

They spent the next few weeks learning quite a lot about each other. Alfred, for instance, learned that it was unwise to call Arthur ‘baby’, soulmates or not. He also learned what felt like the family tree of the entire United Kingdom (though, in reality, was only the most directly related relatives Arthur had), and met some of the strangest group of people to ever call themselves “friends”. He became well acquainted with some of Arthur’s weirder quirks (such as a probably worrisome obsession he had with imaginary creatures), and, unfortunately, most of Arthur’s colleagues (their whole office seemed like the United Nations if it was corporate and prone to vigorous cursing). He also got to spend a lot of time in Arthur’s nice-ass apartment, which was an unexpected perk he truly appreciated. 

Arthur, meanwhile, found himself spending a lot of time with Alfred’s brother (he and Matthew tried very hard to get along for Francis and Alfred’s sake, though playing nice wasn’t one of Arthur’s stronger qualities) and with his best friends, Ivan and Yao, who despite being outlandish and loud, quickly grew on Arthur. He and Yao especially bonded over Alfred and Ivan’s tendencies to fight each other and break everything around them in the process. Additionally, while Arthur initially hyperventilated at the thought of dating a college student (“Dear god, I am officially a _cradle-robber--_ ”), he quickly found that Alfred was capable in matching him in intelligence, wit, and stubbornness, which worked out for them even when it shouldn't have. It was this acceptance of Alfred’s character and situation that won his the approval of those closest to Alfred. 

“Have I told you how much I like him?” Ivan was saying to Alfred on a night of no particular importance while they were sitting on the couch, procrastinating on their lab assignments, “Because I do. I very much like him.”

“You still like him despite these?” Alfred asked, pointing to some burnt egg rolls Arthur had burned just a day ago. Ivan scrunched his nose up.

“I said I liked him, not the disgusting things he creates.” 

Alfred laughed loudly, indicating his agreement with Ivan’s statement. It seemed that even with Yao’s assistance, Arthur was absolutely hopeless in the kitchen. He was too absent minded, and quickly distracted, which did not bode well, no matter how many times Yao interfered.

“What are you two idiots laughing at?” Speak of the devil. Alfred looked up to see Arthur entering the apartment, looking rather disheveled and wet. Ivan conspicuously began shaking his head, and Alfred rolled his eyes.

“Nothing you’d understand, Artie. And what did we tell you about dragging mud into the house? We can’t all afford fancy pants housecleaners.” He barely avoided the suitcase Arthur flung his way. “I love you too, babe.”

And Arthur, rather uncharacteristically, smiled, throwing Alfred for a loop, “And I you, poppet.”

Ivan groaned in disgust while Alfred grinned in approval. He stood up, waltzing up to his boyfriend in a rather exaggerated manner. “Oho, wanna show me how much?”

Ivan couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished three months later (please don't kill me).
> 
> I honestly have an incredibly hard time finishing anything. I had written all the way up to the part where Alfred finds Arthur before New year's. Those last few pages took two months (and you can tell the quality of writing drops severely then). I had like fifteen more ideas for fics in this universe and I'd written most of them before I finally got around to finishing this one. I'm not sure how to fix my problem, except for continue writing and hope that with practice it's resolved. I just wanna reassure you guys, I don't wanna abandon stories, I have been into Hetalia too long for that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this...Christmas fic...in February...
> 
> Anyway, as usual, feedback is totally appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus balls I'm so terrible at summaries. If anyone has better suggestions, I'm happy to hear them. Merry Christmas to you all! I'll have the rest up in the next few days.


End file.
